


Kingmaking

by phalangine



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Politics, Canon Disabled Character, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 04:09:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7027954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phalangine/pseuds/phalangine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two snippets in a West Wing AU: Charles as President Lehnsherr's Chief of Staff and Erik as President Xavier's Chief of Staff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ergonomics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loooove the relationship between Pres. Bartlet and Leo in TWW, and when they had that candlelit dinner in S2 (yes, I'm behind), I knew I had to try to Cherik it.

"What the hell is going on?"

Erik walks into chaos. Angel is unpeeling her press-ons. Raven is aggressively biting her nails on one hand and holding Alex down with the other. Hank is stress-pacing around the room's perimeter with a hunted look.

They all turn to look at him with the same expression.

"Why isn't the President in the Oval Office? He has to record that speech in half an hour, and we still have things to go over."

None of them replies, save to wince harder. Erik scowls at them, ready to start scolding, when Sean, who has his feet on Erik's desk yet again, breaks the quiet.

"The President's in his bedroom," he answers quietly. "He wasn't feeling too good. Moira's in there with him now."

Erik's blood runs cold.

 

***

 

_Charles is yelling at him again. That in itself isn't noteworthy. He and Erik yell at each other nearly every day. The difference is, Charles is screaming at him hard enough for his voice to cut out, and Erik has the sick feeling his friend will cry if this continues._

_"You drive me to extremes!" Charles is bellowing. "'Charles, we have to fight them here.' 'Charles, we have to fight then there.' I can't fight them everywhere and win, and you know it!"_

_Erik does know that. There is very little he doesn't know. How to talk Charles down remains top of that list._

_"Charles, I-"_

_"Let me be me, Erik," Charles begs, heedless of Erik's desire not to fight right now. Genosha's president should never beg, least of all beg Erik, but Charles is desperate. Erik would know that even without the psychic projecting. Tone softening, Charles seizes Erik's moment of hesitation. "You know I could get them to reconcile some points. Why must I use the stick when the carrot will work?"_

_"You don't."_

_"Pardon?"_

_"You don't have to use the stick," Erik says. "You can do this however you want to, Mr. President. If you want a softer approach,_ tell me _. I serve at your pleasure, sir."_

_Charles gapes at him for a long moment. Then, to Erik's horror, a fat tear rolls down Charles' cheek._

_"Mr. President?"_

_"Charles." Erik makes to argue, but Charles shakes his head. "When it's just us, I'm Charles. Please, old friend. I'd like to hear someone call me by my name, lest I forget it."_

_The concern is not without merit. Telepaths' brains work differently. Erik would know- he knows most everything related to his friend. It's his job._

_"As you wish, sir."_

"Erik!"

_"As you wish, Charles," Erik amends. He can feel himself smiling around the words, and as Charles begins to relax, so does he. "Shall we return to the Munroe Bill?"_

_Charles groans, and Erik is confident he will be back to contemplating his stance on authoritarianism sooner than later._

***

 

Moira MacTaggert is one Genosha's few humans. She is also the Chief Presidential Medic, a position she fills with cool professionalism and the occasional presidential shout-down. Erik may not trust her as a rule, but she does keep Charles healthy, which is not an easy task. The fact that she is Charles' room right now can only be a bad thing.

"Why are you giving him shots if he already has the flu?" Erik asks the moment he sees her.

Charles lets out a heavy sigh and cuts the argument short. "Because it isn't the flu, and because Moira is an excellent doctor. You should probably go now, my dear."

She does, and with minimal protest. Erik's sense of foreboding grows.

"Erik, come sit with me."

When the president asks, it isn't a request. It is a command, and it is understood, when your president commands you, you obey.

Erik takes a seat on a corner of the bed at the foot. Charles prods his with a foot, but Erik will not be distracted.

"You're no fun when you're upset."

"Mr. President-"

"Charles."

"Mr. President."

"Oh, whatever." Charles collapses back into his pillows with a groan. He stares up at the ceiling for a long moment; Erik knows better than to try hurrying him. "I'm dying, old friend."

Erik's heart stops. "You're not."

"I am." Charles touches his foot to Erik's thigh, but the mischievousness from earlier has drained from him. The pressure is light and meant to reassure. "Slowly, sometimes imperceptibly. But always, my days march me faster and faster toward the great beyond."

"What's doing this to you?" Erik grits.

"MS. Incurable, though my sort tends to come and go."

"That's why the shots?"

"That's why the shots."

Erik has a hundred things to revise now. He just can't remember any of them. "I should go-"

"No, you should stay. The country will hold for a few minutes, Erik," Charles urges. "Right now, I need my Chief of Staff right where he is."

The command is not a command. It's a request.

"Charles..."

"When I first got the Democratic nomination, former President Bartlet gave me advice for picking my staff." Erik frowns, not tracking the non-sequitur. "The first thing he did was ask me three questions. The first one was if I had a best friend. I said yes. The second was if he was smarter than me. I said yes. The third was if I'd trust him with my life. I said yes. And he told me that was my chief staff. I've never regretted following that."

Erik swallows, thrown by Charles' candor. "I serve at your pleasure, Mr. President," he says softly. "I go where you send me. I do as you bid me."

"And if I would not send you?" Charles challenges, and for a moment, the ratty bathrobe and bedhead mean nothing. The man watching him is a statesman made large by his power. "If I would instead keep you close?"

"Then I will stay where you put me. I am your weapon to command."

Charles smiles, but it's the sad one that says he's remembered something he wishes he could forget. It isn't an uncommon expression around Erik.

"Then I command you to rest here with me for a time. You're tired, Erik. I know you are. A nap will do us both more good than ill."

Erik serves at the pleasure of his president. He takes the nap, and when he wakes with one of Charles' arms thrown over him, he lies where he is for a few extra minutes. Just to be certain Charles has indeed reached a deep enough sleep for Erik to slip away without rousing him.


	2. Human Factors

Charles is a man on a mission. The mission? Get Senator Kelly, String Him Up, and Burn Every Bridge In The Process. He is not Franklin Pierce. He is La Guardia. He is Sherman. He is-

He is Haldeman, minus the illegal recording. But not, Charles thinks darkly, minus all scandal. If he were, he would not be about to do something stupid, illegal, and long overdue.

"Where's your boss?" he growls at the aide. The poor man shakes and points to the office door behind him. _Excellent._ Charles is on a time limit here. If Erik finds out before Charles decks the old bigot, he will find a way to keep Charles from breaking those unconvincing dentures. "Thank you. You're dismissed."

Visibly shaken, the man hurries away. Charles returns his attention to the task at hand.

"Kelly!" he bellows, throwing the door open and shouldering through. "You've crossed the line, you mother fu- What?"

The senator is nowhere to be seen. The man behind the desk is scowling hard enough to be Kelly but is decidedly younger and more powerful, both in the mutant sense and political influence. Kelly is a speed bump. The man in his chair is a bullet train.

"Mr. President," Charles chokes out, "what are you doing here?"

"Saving you from disgrace, apparently," Erik tells him drily. "And losing ten dollars in the process. You owe me for that, by the way."

"I- What? Where's Kelly?" Charles can't feel that oily mind, but Kelly could be wearing organic steel...

Erik narrows his eyes. "When I heard my chief of staff, a man I have known intimately for years and respect deeply, was on the warpath, I thought my aide was playing a joke on me. Then I remembered the piece in the _New York Times_ and the fact that my oldest friend, despite his intellect, can be a stupid son of a bitch."

"So you moved Kelly."

"No, I called his secretary. Hiring Moira MacTaggert was the best thing Kelly ever did for us."

Charles knows when he's beaten- it's the main difference between Erik and him. Facing the combined wiles of the president of his country and a former CIA spook is too much for him, especially now.

"Thank you," he allows, deflating as the words leave him.

Erik tilts his head. "You haven't been sleeping."

"Of course I haven't." Charles' grip on his chair grows harder. "My career is over. You're in danger, this administration is in danger, and it's my fault. It's all my fault."

"You're wrong." At Charles' incredulous look, Erik shrugs. When he speaks, his voice is low, but it carries every pound of the gravity due the leader of a world superpower. "It was years ago. So you were an addict. You didn't betray your country. You didn't betray _me_. You got help, and you're clean now. That's all that matters."

"Mr. President-"

"That's all that matters, Charles."

Some days, Charles could strangle Erik. The man is a genius, but he's brash, prone to displays of power instead of overtures of accord. He forgets sometimes that punishing a leader means punishing the people. He hates compromise. He adores exchanging words with his detractors. Proportional response is not his first instinct, nor his second. Talking him down is difficult and time consuming.

But the fact of it is, Erik has a fundamentally good core. His reforms are more radical than Congress likes, but right now, more than sixty percent of the country approves. Erik's speeches get watched. His rhetoric is his own, and even the right has admitted how powerful Erik's reasoning can be. The nation sees that and responds. The world sees that and responds. _Charles_ that and responds.

A man who can unite America is powerful indeed.

"I'm sorry," Charles says. He truly is. Erik is busy with far more important issues than Charles' wounded feelings. "I'll leave Kelly alone."

"Good." Erik hesitates, then adds, "Walk with me?"

Charles makes a face, but he has no real problem with the phrase. He just enjoys teasing his friend. Erik had been so clumsy when it came to Charles' chair in the beginning, it had been adorable when it wasn't annoying. Erik had been a junior rep in the House in those days, Charles a low-level advisor to former President Adler. Adler took a shining to Erik and sent Charles to "shape that boy into an actual statesman." Erik did most of the work, but Charles likes to take a little credit. Who wouldn't?

They walk from Kelly's office back to the White House surrounded by Secret Service agents. How he missed them earlier is hardly a mystery- he was furious at Kelly about the story and for seeking Charles' step-brother out and intentionally confusing Cain into discussing Charles' university and post-accident days, even though everyone knows Cain is a vet and sustained brain damage in the last war- but he is a bit miffed at himself. Angel is at the head, and he should have recognized her at the very least.

Erik gets dragged into a baseball discussion with two of the others, which Charles has no interest in joining. His silence gives Angel an opening to sidle up close.

"He won't get away with it," she tells him hotly. "It was bad to begin with, but doing that to a vet..." She clenches her fists, and Charles is reminded that Angel served as well. If memory serves, she, too, went into the Marines.

Charles sometimes forgets that Erik's irascible temperament is not out of place in America.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," he says, meaning it fully. He and Angel have not always got on in the past- nor did he and Cain, come to think of it. He hesitates, wondering if he's pushing his limits, but decides to say it anyway. "My step-brother lost his unit in the attack that saw him medically discharged. If you or another marine you know has the time, it would mean a great deal to him to have a visitor. Especially one he can connect with..."

"Done."

Charles flounders. "Done?"

Angels nods sharply, her eyes scanning the sidewalk ahead. He doesn't miss the twitch of her lips as she says, "One thing we belligerent Americans pride ourselves on is our community, Xavier." Sobering, she clarifies. "Cain won't be lonely if we have anything to say about it."

Behind them, Erik makes a noise of disgust and skips ahead to join Charles and Angel, effectively ending their discussion. "Angel," he complains, "your men are fools. I don't trust their judgment."

"You will when someone takes a shot at your face," she says drily. "And don't you pout at me. You don't trust anybody's judgment."

"I trust Charles'," Erik grumbles.

He does. For all their differences, Erik looks to Charles more than anyone. He listens to Charles more than anyone- other than his parents. It's an honor and a burden to have the influence Charles has, but as the president of the United States walks him to his office, Charles wouldn't trade it for anything.


End file.
